The second one later arrives as a huge mother of a hog with anass the size of Kansas.

Their assignment is simplicity itself:

Capture a human and turn it over to their gourmet chefs who willprepare a grand feast for Major Grok. If the Major gives thumbsup (and, why wouldn't he?) a full-scale invasion will take placeand they'll have all the slaves and human foodstuffs they'll everneed.

What could possibly go wrong? After all, the plan is easilyexecutable, isn't it?

Well, for one thing, kidnapping the world's only peeping Tom whowears a realistic pig mask as a disguise just might screw thingsup a tad. He may be dumber than a hammer, but he has streetsmarts from watching all those MacGyver reruns.

For another thing, the aliens didn't figure on Detective CluSniffer and Ms. Pooty Prissyfoot hooking up with a most unlikely,albeit sinister, ally.

This is a fun read, chock-full of hilarious situations. Sure, weknow they save Earth in the end, la-di-da, but getting there isall the fun. And, well worth the trip.

Right, Pooty? "Poppycock!"

Now to the fun parts.

SHORT EXPLANATION: In the story, Bertram Burlappe Balliwick, alecherous peeping Tom, who wears a realistic pig mask as adisguise, has amnesia from being kicked in the head by one of thealiens. Not knowing where he lives, he heads for the only addresshe can remember, the home of an elderly woman he had peeped atthrough her bathroom window as she took a shower.

From the chapter: "Why a bathroom is called the head!"RS. HENRIETTA HIGGAMBOTHAM-SMYTHINGTON was in her garden, thelove of her life, doing the chores she felt necessary to growprize winning flowers, such as Azaleas, not to mentionRhododendrons.

She had finished her winter mulch chore, three-inches-high ofmulch around each tree, two-inches-high over the garden beds. Forthe trees she used the big chunk-chip mulch, but for herprecious, prize-winning garden beds only the smaller, fine-chipmulch would do.

She preferred chip mulch to the more common shredded mulch.Shredded mulch, she believed, and she would know, smotheredplants, made watering less effective, and even though it costless than the chips kind, gave a haven to the bad bugs and otherinsects that were a gardener's bane. And, to her at least, itsmelled funny as it rotted out. Ms. aitch hyphen ess knewgardening, you betcha.

She was on her knees, a bulb planter tool in her right hand.She'd punch a hole in the soil, drop some bulb fertilizer intoit, and plop in a bulb, pointy side up, you betcha. Then she'dcover it back up with soil. It was hard work and she perspired,for sure, but it was a work of love to her that went back many,many decades.

Whoever says gardening is relaxing has never tried to plant sixhundred bulbs, one hundred each of Tulips, Crocuses, Anemones(Blanda type), Lilies of the Valley, Fritillarias, andChionodoxas (Glory-of-the-Snow), each specie fussy about itsplanting depth.

Relaxing? You betcha! If having your hands covered in calluseswhile sweat pours down your back is your idea of relaxation.

And strangely enough, or maybe not, if anyone now saw our sweet,dear Ms. Henrietta Higgambotham-Smythington, all callused up andsweaty, on her knees punching one hole after another, smilinglike an idiot, constantly wiped her brow, humming an unknownmelody, with a happier-than-a-pig-in-shit look on her face, theymight guess her ideas on the matter of what constitutesrelaxation and what doesn't.

And, also strangely enough, she was being watched by someone.Because her widebrimmed straw hat blocked out the sun, and mostof her view, she saw only the person's lower trouser legs andshoes.

Now, normally, our beloved Henrietta was a trust-all-souls typeof gardener, but the pervert-in-the-bathroom-window episode hadunnerved her and she was, one could say, just a wee bit antsy.The trousers and shoes, being covered in only-God-knows-what,made her gasp as she looked up. She said fearfully, "Wh . . .What do you want?"

The man, if he was a man under all that only-God-knows-what, juststood there and blinked at her, a where am I? look on his messyface that only lost souls can muster up. On his chest, untouchedas it were by the any of the slop that covered him, were twowhite letters: M E. The rest of the printing, SE P R FI, wasunseen by Henrietta due to the muck, which was indeed lucky forBalliwick because she had yet to forget the peeping Tom's Marine-like tee shirt.

Taking in the full spectrum of him, our sweet, bulb-plantinggardener, for reasons probably known only to a mother Teresa orperhaps anyone with a maternal instinct, felt no fear of thestranger. He looked so pitiful. Like something the cat dragged inand forgot to kill. He blinked some more. Then in a croaky voicethat sounded as if it hadn't been used much lately, he said, "DoI live here, Ma'am?"

"No!" she said harshly. "This is my house! I live here." Shestood up and found she was a bit taller than this dishevelledcreature. "What on earth happened to you, young man! What's yourname?" She said this so unfearfully and so forcefully, the man snapped to attention.

He answered the second question first, "I'm Bertram BurlappeBalliwick, Ma'am." He saluted her with a drill sergeant's dreamsalute. "And Ma'am," he held the salute firmly and unshakingly,"Ican't remember what happened to me!" He finished the salute witha drill sergeant's snap. "Tsk, tsk, tsk." was all she said.

Sometimes in real life, a lot of conversation is unnecessary andtrust-all-souls type of people know their duty, know what must bedone, when confronted with forlorn creatures covered in only-God-knows-what.

This whole exchange, as brief as it was, had the effect ofbringing out Ms. Henrietta Higgambotham-Smythington's best mother Teresa style of maternal instinct. She took him by the arm,turned him around and steered him toward the house, her house,the only house in the world with a bathroom window, and a bluebathroom, that he remembered as being home.

"You're going to get a right proper bath, young man," she saidemphatically. "And a right proper clothes washing. Then after aright proper meal, we'll get to the bottom of this, mark mywords!" He blinked again and said, right properly, "Yes'm."

She marched him, right properly, into the house and right intothe bathroom. She stoppered the tub, turned on the water andlooked him squarely in the eyes.

"Give me your clothes and I'll put them in the washer!" She juststood there.

Bertam Burlappe Balliwick didn't even hesitate. "Yes'm!" was allhe said as he stripped down right there in front of her, shynessnever a part of the equation.

Naked now, he handed her his clothes, which didn't add up tomuch: A tee shirt, trousers, shorts (briefs type), and socks. Ashe undressed, he missed the looking-at-it-way-too-long glance shehad given to his very large, very thick--even though flaccid--male appendage. All he did was blink a few times, like a deercaught in headlights. Naughty, naughty, Henrietta! Twinge!Twinge!

She ordered him to get into the tub, this naked youngman withthe bigger-than-most-men's wee wee. She ordered him to soap upand stay put until she could get back to give him a proper washup, mark her words. She ordered. He obeyed. Master and slave.Does it get any sweeter? Not for a sixty-six year old widow ladywho hasn't had it in decades, you betcha!

Now, if the Guinness Book of World Records cared to time it,they'd have a new speed winner in the Get-The-Wash-Started-And-Get-Back-To-The-Naked-Man-With-The-Huge-Penis-In-My-Tubclassification.

To say she was horny doesn't cover it. She was smokin'! Just thesight of that oh-so-unreal large, male member had aroused in ourdear, sweet Henrietta the primordial lust of the ages. It was asif God had answered a spinster's prayers and had dropped a large-pricked plum right into her lap. And lordy, lordy, was she everhungry! And she just loved plums. Especially the large-endowedones served on top of nuts. You betcha!

She returned to the bathroom, in record time for sure, and sawthat he hadn't gotten too far with the soaping up. Goody-goody!The tub's water was now gore-colored and it looked as if he wassitting in a tub of blood. Which, you could say, he was.

"Now Bertram," she said, "You just sit there while I change thiswater and get you fresh. OK?" He nodded as the water started todrain out.

His penis area, Goody-goody! soon became visible to her old widow's eyes. My, my! was all she thought, as new, fresh waterstarted to refill the tub. My, my! My, my!

She took the soap in hand and scrubbed him all over, rightproperly, she did, including a scrubbing-it-way-too-long actionaround the plum with nuts area, which, if truth be told, had theusual and expected effect on one Bertram Burlappe Balliwick.

It grew and it grew! Then grew some more! My, my! In full anger,it reached well over ten inches. Ten and a quarter inches, ifaccuracy is your goal. Collectors of pornographic films wouldeasily be reminded of Jeff Stryker, at his peak. My, my! Itsgirth was as thick around as a woman's wrist. The bulbous head,with a wide, flared ridge was--you guessed it!--plum shaped. My,my! The member stood straight up, pointed at the ceiling and washalf exposed above the now clean, clear water. It looked verysimilar to those photos that show the Loch Ness monster. My, my!

For sure, our heroine had never seen anything like this in herentire life, not that she had much experience for comparison. Hernow dead husband, on his best day, and at full mast, had half thelength of the magnificent piece of manhood she now beheld--ormore like, ogled.

And her husband's Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma'am-Gotta Snore-Nowattitude sure didn't add to her sexual fantasies. Nor did hisOnly-Need-It-Once-A-Month posture. If she had known, as a young woman, that men with things like this existed, she sure as Hell,Heavens-to-Betsy, would have thought differently about acceptingthe marrriage proposal of one Wellington Frobisher Higgambotham-Smythington, Esq.

Girlishly now, and with soapy fingers, she reached down andproceeded to wash the plum-like head. Twinge! Twinge! The thoughtof using a wash cloth for this task never occurred to her.Fingers do a much better job anyway, dontcha know?Twinge! Twinge!

Balliwick moaned. He had a dream-like look on his face. His eyesmerely blinked. He was now totally enraptured by his first--wasit? Can't remember! Don't care, either!--male-female encounter.

That the female was almost three times his age, old enough to behis grandmother, and not what anyone, drunk or sober, would calla beauty, didn't matter to him, either. For now, anyway, hisNessie monster was in control.

So here was our hero, clean as a whistle and hung like a horse,ready to be towelled off. She ordered him to step out of the tub.He did, and stood before her, buck naked, all wet and glisteny.His beady little male eyes brimmed with male lust and his ten andone quarter inch woody, big around as a woman's wrist, pointed inher direction. In a bathroom that, sure as shit, seemed veryfamiliar to him.

She ordered him to towel off his top part. She'd see to hisbottom part, she told him as she handed him a big, fluffy, terry-like towel. He dried his top. She dried his legs. His stomach.His cute bubble-like ass. Twinge! Twinge! My, My!

Then gently, so gently, she dried his scrotum as his large memberswayed mere inches from her face over the top of the towel. Then,for reasons probably only known to a Monica-of-the-oval-officetype female, she kissed the tip of his penis. Smooch! Balliwickmoaned, so she did it again. Smooch! And one more, to grow on,and for good luck. Smooch! Balliwick became a moan-fool, he did,with each gently planted kiss.

Smooch! Smooch! Smooch!

If old Welly, she thought, could only see me now! He'd do adouble spin in his grave, that's for sure! This thought soinvigorated her, that she decided, right there, right in her veryown bathroom, all decorated in blues, her favorite color, to doto Bertram Burlappe Balliwick something only very, very--very badgirls did with men.

She took his engorge penis into her hot--oh so hot--sixty-sixyear old widow's mouth! How's them apples, Mister WellingtonHiggambotham-Smythington, Esq.? she thought as she went fartheralong the shaft. Her mouth crossed the bumpy ridge--what somefolks kiddingly refer to as a speedbump for the lips--and slowlycontinued downward.

Balliwick let out his loudest moan yet. This so emboldened herthat she started going up and down feverishly. Her tongue swirledaround. She clamped her lips here and there and changed the pace,slow, then fast, then slow, then fast. Her head bobbed up anddown as she sucked to beat the band. Her saliva ran down herchin. Her heart beat faster and lustfully, lost in the task athand--her first ever blowjob.

His too, but he didn't know it. The little shit didn't care,either, if truth be told. Anyone for a cold shower at this pointin our little tale? If not, proceed at your own risk! And thosewho consider this section too vulgar may skip to the next story section. Or burn this book right now. Take your pick.

Balliwick reached down and put both hands into her white, granny-like hair. He held her fast this way while he methodically sawedin and out of her mouth. He moaned a good one and picked up thepace.

One inward plunge hit the back of her throat and animated the gagreflex. She let out a gurgle and almost upchucked, right there onher blue bathroom rug. He sensed this, and being the gentleman hewas at this particular moment, made his plunges shallower. Awhole lot shallower.

She read this as some form of rejection, which it certainly wasnot. Thus our sweet Henrietta decided to take the--uh--plunge, soto speak.

After all, she thought, how difficult could it be? So, slowly,very slowly, she pushed her mouth farther down the shaft and tookquarter inch by quarter inch. When the plump plum head nuzzledher gag reflex again, she chose to simply ignore the urge toregurgitate.

Mind over matter, she thought to herself, that's all it is. Fiveinches! Then six! Then Seven! God, she thought, does this darnthing have an end?

It was right about here, at six or seven inches, that a buriedthought entered her mind: Thank goodness he's not Rasputin theMonk!

Long ago, when old Welly was still capable of bitchin' about theweather, she had read in one of those fact books on people,places, and things, that Rasputin was said, or rumored, to havethirteen manly longer-than-should-exist inches. Even the czarinaof all the Russias, Alexandra, was said to have sampled thelengthy pole. Just how many times is unknown, but her undertakercould not remove the smile from her face. So it's rumored.

Well, Henrietta had trouble picturing a thirteen inch schlong inher mind, so she promptly went to her sewing room and got out herwooden yardstick. As she held it out in front of her, withfingers at both ends of thirteen inches, she let out a gasp.

My God, she thought, that damn thing would go in one of my endsand come straight out the other! That thought gave her a fewgirlish twinges, no doubt, fantasies being what they are and all.But let us not leave Balliwick . . . uh . . . hanging. OK?

With her now nearing the eight inch mark, this buried thoughtinsinuated itself a tad more. She thought: This one still mightcome out my other end! She felt an involuntary shudder in heranus area.

Eight inches swallowed! Then Nine! Tears were in her eyes as shefought off the gag reflexes natural inclinations to dislodge themassive invader.

And Balliwick wasn't just moaning now. He was A-MOANIN'! if youget the drift, and his legs shook like a rubber goose's. They hadstarted this involuntary wobble when she had reached inch five onthe penis-shaft scale, in case you're interested and must knoweverything.

When her lips pressed against his curly pubic hairs, at exactlyten and one quarter inches--remember?--he let out a "Sooey!" thatwould have called any hog, even a stone deaf one, down to dinner!It felt so good he did it again. "Sooey!"

So there they were, this mismatched pair, doing what is beingdone in millions of bedrooms every night of the week. Yeah, youwish.

He moaned and "Sooeyed" as she worked at what her late husbandconsidered sick, depraved, unnatural--icky-poo!-- and a sin inthe eyes of God. You watching this, old Welly? she thought, Youseeing your old Henny in a new light?

With this thought in mind, she moved her mouth back up to thespeedbump and without so much as a bye-your-leave, took theplunge again, going right down, as some say, to the fur, in lesstime than it takes to say Welly. Balliwick yelled, "Sooey!Sooey!" Spin, spin, spin, old Welly.

When his climax came, it came with a deluge. Balliwick held herhead fast and withdrew his penis to where only the plum-like headremained in her mouth. He then let out another "Sooey" that wasprobably heard in all neighboring counties, and he unloaded.

His first spurt hit the back of her throat with enough force toremind her she still had a gag reflex. Many spurts soon followedand flooded her mouth with sperm as thick and lumpy as yogurt--nofruit on the bottom though.

She swallowed audibly, and more spurts refilled her. Sheswallowed again. And, as she felt the throbs that took placeunder the thumb she held at the base of his penis, she knew morewas on its way. And more was. Jiminy Cricket, she thought, it'slike being force-fed from a damn fire hose!

She swallowed again--Refill please! Thank you!-- then sheswallowed for the fourth and last time. Her Bertie, it seemed,was now fully drained. Finally, thank you. Spin, spin, spin!

He withdrew his penis from her mouth and, to her utter amazement,and very unlike old Welly, he was still hard, erect, woodified,call it what you will. The damn thing still looked ready for moreaction. My, my!

Still on her knees, with her hand at the base of his unWelly-likepole, she looked up at him.

"You may not believe this, young man," she said. "But that was myfirst time ever doing that." she paused and ran her tonguelasciviously over her lips. "And my first time ever tastingsperm, mark my words! Very strange taste it has, it does." Shelicked her lips again.

"Sorta reminds me of salty onions!" she said. Then they lookeddirectly into each other's eyes and laughed. That sweet, gentlekind of laugh, the kind shared by lovers everywhere. Spin! Spin!Spin! And Henrietta now added salty onions to the very short listof her favorite things. Right up there with large-pricked plumsand hairy nuts.

"Now," she said. "How's about I rustle you up something real goodto eat?" She stood up and gave his--amazingly, my, my!--stillhard penis a playful squeeze. He moaned.

"And my sweet Bertie, I want you to show me later just how wellyou can use this precious thing of yours . . . in the normalway," She bent over and planted a smooch right smack dab on hisindented little, inny-like pee hole. "OK?"

"Your wish," he said, "is my command!" He gave her one of thosedrill sergeant's dream salutes, the kind with a right smart snapon its tail end . . .SHORT EXPLANATION: Detective Clu Sniffer, our hero, is enchantedwith the sweet-as-punch school teacher, Ms. Pooty Prissyfoot, awitness to a kidnapping. As he interviews her for details, he isunaware of what took place on her honeymoon night when shemarried the owner of the local donut shop, Mr. Earl Doody.

From the chapter: "Just how checkered is your past?"

ROM THE GIT-GO, Earl senior had enchanted her. Though exactlytwice her age, he cut a dashing, man-about-town, man-of-the-worldfigure. Money didn't matter to Pooty but Earl had tons of thegreen stuff. And he lived all by himself, if you subtract thebutler and maid, in a big house on a hill.

His ex-wife, Cluce, had her own house, fully paid by him, on asmaller hill. She lived with little Earl, Jr. who bounced backand forth between the two hills.

Pooty and old Earl had a head spinning, whirl-win courtship,which culminated three months later when Earl proposed as hestuck a glazed donut on her ring finger and asked for her hand.Why she said yes, she couldn't now tell you.

Perhaps it was his resemblance to her father. Or how much of agentleman he was. Why, he hadn't even so much as tried to cop afeel here and there from the virginal kindergarten teacher.Whatever. Maybe her prince hadn't come along but he was an Earl.And she was enchanted with him.

They married that very afternoon in the offices of the Justice ofthe Peace. old Earl even had the ring ready, as if he knew she'dsay yes. In spite of the long, long kiss the jp said they werenow entitled to, it went downhill from here. But not right away.

Earl promptly took her back to his mansion. His man, Digby, wouldsee to her clothes and such, later. This was their Honeymoon,dontcha know?

He gave the maid and the butler the night off. After a quickcelebratory small drink of cognac to toast the nuptials and fouror five hearty swigs by Earl straight from an old Grand Dad 114proof Bourbon bottle, he fairly rushed her into the masterbedroom.

He seemed like a thirsty man who had discovered water was now athand and he was to have his fill. It scared her somewhat but shealso felt wifely. Now if she could only chase away how she feltlike the lamb led to slaughter.

In the bedroom, Thirsty man became Lecherman. He stood her at thefront of the bed and said, with both hands on her shoulders,"Now, Missus Doody, I'm gonna show you what you've been missin'all your life!" He eyed her body up and down, licked his lips,and looked demented and lascivious at the same time. Itfrightened her somewhat. But she still felt wifely.

He took her clothing off, piece by piece, and very slowly, as ifhe was unwrapping a present and wanted to delay the surprise forhis better overall pleasure.

She trembled. His hands trembled while he worked. Then he kissedher with each new article he took off and tossed carelessly tothe floor. He kisses were sloppy wet, hot, tongue-probing, anddelivered nervously. Spittle ran down his chin. He smelled ofbooze. It mixed with the smell of his heated muskiness.

For some strange reason, she didn't protest, argue or get angry.Perhaps she thought this was only a man's way to get through theHoneymoon jitters. Whatever the reason, she just stood there. Andtried, unbelievably, to respond mentally positive to what wastaking place.

When she was finally nude, he stepped back for a better overalllook-see. She stood there before him, nipples rigid from the coolair. Her eyes looked slightly downward. Her hands were placedprimly in front of her groin area. Waiting. For whatever hedecided to do next.

And as weird as she felt, as she stood naked before him, she alsofelt stirrings within her. As lecherous as he looked, she alsofelt greatly desired by him. He was her husband now. She hiswife. For better or for worse, isn't that what the jp had said?Absolutely. No argument about it.

And she knew, and she thought, that in mere moments from now, shewould be getting fucked. Wifely fucked. Her first fuck. And thethought of being fucked by the man, now her husband who drooledand salivated just by looking at her, somehow hit her twinklebuttons. Her honey-motor.

She now wanted him to fuck her. To take her and ravish her, justlike in the gothic novels. In any manner and fashion he chose.She was now a wifely slave to her new drooling, twice-her-agemaster, who reminded her of Daddy.

"Honey, you have," he said, "the most loveliest titties I everlaid my eyes on!" He reached out with his hands and tweaked bothof her nipples at once. This sent a shiver through her body."They make my ex, Cluce, look like a cow by comparison!"

He pinched the nipples again then squeezed both of her breasts,his hands a-tremble noticeably. Then he pushed the pair of amplebosoms together. He kissed and sucked on each nipple in turn.Then he buried his head into her cleavage and kissed and licked."Mmm, mmm, lushus." he said. She felt more stirrings take centerstage inside her. Goose pimples broke out all over her body. Shefelt warm, overheated.

He covered her breasts and stomach with wet, sloppy, lip-tonguekisses, while his hands explored her all over. Her legs. Herback. Her buttocks. Her chest and belly were wet from this actionand she could sense a wetness start to form in her vagina.

She moaned, and this encouraged him. He kissed her hotly as bothhands massaged and kneaded her buttocks. He moaned throughout thekiss. He brought a hand around to her front and rubbed hervaginal area.

Then she shuddered violently when he, on his knees now, ran histongue down her stomach and plunged it straightaway into the topof her vagina. And proceeded to lick up and down and around. Theshock of it, the newness of it, for no man had ever done that,sent ripples of something unnamable and indescribable throughher. Her knees almost buckled out from under her as a smallorgasm overtook her. She moaned, louder now.

He stood up and ordered her to lie on the bed. She obeyed. Whenshe was thus placed, on her back, her legs held coyly together,she felt surreal. It was all happening to her but somehow itwasn't. She watched him as he undressed. He fairly tore hisclothes off as he watched her and eyed her body up and down. Helooked insane. Spittle flew off his chin. Sweat glistened on hisforehead, his shoulders, and his hairless chest.

She felt herself blush when his erection was revealed. It swayedwith his movements. Its size both startled and frightened her. Itwas long, and extremely fat, with a huge purplish-pink head. Butit was odder looking, too. It was bent, acutely, to the side, hisleft side. The bend was so severe it almost made a half-circle.It frightened her. And amazed her. He wiggled it in her directionand smiled at her.

In her younger years, she had never seen anything like it. And,amazingly perhaps, she had seen many. In high school, she hadgiven eight boys handjobs, when the hormones that led to pettingseemed ready to go out of control and threatened to lead to more.She was saving the 'more' for marriage. The boys didn't complain.They had today.

In truth, she greatly enjoyed being the cocktease, it pleasedher, but she knew it could be a dangerous game to play. So, tothis end, and in pretense to spare the boys from getting whatthey called, blue balls, she offered her hand in masturbation. Itnever went beyond that, and sometimes letting them kiss andfondle her firm, young girlish breasts.

After the first time, when the boy had spurted all over her brandnew jeans, she started carrying extra Kleenex for the after cleanup. She would make the boy, with the threat of not doing it,promise to tell her when his moment had arrived. She would thenwrap the head of his spurting joint in the Kleenex, wad it up,and put it in her pocket or purse for later disposal. She didn'twant to litter.

Now and then, and she felt weird doing this, she would open upthe wadded tissue and inspect its contents. Out of curiosity--andwho knows? --to see if the color was white, as it should be, orhad she run into a strange boy who spasmed green? Or blue. Orpurple?

All eight of the boys shot white, as is to be expected, andreturned for many rematches. The moment a boy had her alonesomewhere, zip, out would come his favorite plaything.

It all happened so frequently, and so mechanically, she felt asif she was a demented nurse who had developed an unusual methodfor collecting sperm samples. At one time, she had no less thansix such samples in her pocket and purse combined. All carefullypreserved in Kleenex, for which purpose, as you savvy readersalready know, Kleenex was invented in the first place.

And she had marveled at the differences in the boy's penises. Alarge one, a skinny one, a fat one, a short one, a short, fatone, one curved up, one curved down, a little head, big head,medium head. It amazed her no end. It seemed as if God hatedsameness in penises.

Four of the boys had tried to get her to perform oral on them,two by pushing her head in the general direction, but she washaving none of that icky stuff. Poppycock! Take what I offer orget nothing. None of them pushed the matter any farther.

When she went off to college, in another town, and shared a dormroom with a roommate, she went wild in her tease-'em-then-please-'em game. Dozens and dozens. And dozens more.

She quickly grew a reputation and any guy who was tired of usinghis own five-fingered Mary, knew just where to go and just who tosee: The big-titted virgin who was saving up her anything "more"for her prince charming. "You can't fuck 'er, Harry, but get 'erto put Vaseline on it and you might not know the difference."

Her roomie, Wendy Turkle, informed Pooty one day that they werestarting to refer to Poot's actions as "Getting Kleenexed," andcomments such as "See Poot, she'll Kleenex out your pipes foryou!" were becoming commonplace.

Pooty didn't care. Who knew her in this town, anyway? And theydon't ask for ID when buying Kleenex. At least not yet.

Besides, who was the roommate to talk! She was well known asWindjob Turkle, for her oral skills, which, she eagerly toldPooty, were getting better with every guy.

"You should try it, Poot. It's really rad!" Someday, Poot toldher, when the Prince came a-knocking. With his "more" hangin'out, one can only guess.

At times, the girl-talk they shared would give Doctor Ruth aheart attack. But they had fun with the whole thing. Ms. Windjobwould tell Ms. Kleenex what sperm tasted like to her, salty witha long-staying aftertaste and give her all the juicy, you-shoulda-seen-me-in-action details of the event, including,usually, whether the guy smelled musky, sweaty or like shit in adiaper.

Ms. Kleenex would match her in the details arena, like the timethe guy spurted, with Pooty being too slow on the Kleenex, and ithit the ceiling! Right there in a dark booth in the back ofHoward Johnsons.

Sometimes Pooty would unfold the Kleenex tissue for a joint-committee inspection, analysis, and college-like discussion. Ah,those were the days! The salad days of yore. The halcyon days.When college really meant something to a kid.

Some of Windjobs stories were so unbelievable, so preposterous,that Pooty felt compelled to tell her as much.

"Wendy, you're full of poppycock! Just full of it."

Don't worry, Poot. We haven't forgotten you're lying naked as ajay on a bed in a mansion, watching the last of your husband'sattire hit the floor and . . .

From the chapter: "What is this thing called, Love?"

As Pooty looked at Earl's huge swaying cock, she knew she hadnever, in all her travels, seen anything even close to it. Itscared and fascinated her. It looked nearly a foot long. Maybemore. Its severe bend reminded her of a coiled cobra ready tostrike. If it hissed right now and lashed out and bit her on oneof her big toes, it wouldn't have surprised her a bit.

Earl, with his black half-socks still on, walked over to the sideof the bed and stood there. His crooked, humongous lady-thrillersnake wobbled and swayed from side to side as if it sought outthe best place to strike. He took it in his right hand and shookthe huge, bent salami up and down at her.

"Ain't it a beaut, Darlin,' he said. "Cluce couldn't get enoughof this little fella, dontcha know? He waved it around in acircle and, as he did, a pre-cum blob flew off the tip and landedon her left nipple. It both startled and titillated her.

"Like it?" he asked. Not knowing what else to say or do, shenodded, her eyes a-bug.

"Soon now, Honeybunch . . . you're gonna love it!"

Just before he got onto the bed to place his body alongside hers,he gave a wink to the wall space that was behind and above herhead. Earl's favorite picture of our Lord, the one with the eyesthat follow you all around the room, now looked directly at him.It also watched him as he placed his left knee on the bed but itdid not hear, one must assume, the bed groan from the now addedextra weight.

He kissed her lips, sloppily and wetly. He smothered her body inslick tongue kisses, all the way down to her toes. He groped andhe felt her. He trembled. He sweated. He wiggled around on top ofher and beside her, as he groped, kissed and devoured her.

His left knee went between her thighs and opened them slightly.He pressed his knee into her vagina. He moaned and she moaned. Akiss. A grope. A feel. A squeeze. As he tried to get her honey-motor started.

As he worked on her body, her arms merely rested, in turn, on hisback, his shoulders, his sides. Then he plunged a middle fingerinto her vagina. He wiggled it and probed. Farther in now. A pushupwards. Then it was joined by a neighbor. The two now probed andpushed in a frenzy to find the elusive starter gizmo.

She moaned louder now. Her arms now found more of him. Her handssqueezed, pressed and explored. Her fingers wandered and stumbledon Cluce's favorite thing.

She could hardly get her small hand around it. It throbbed andpulsated as she explored its circular length. He moaned. Theywrithed, entangled, and kissed and groped some more. Hisfingering of her increased and her passions rose. They bothsweated, slippery together. Her hand went farther and found hisballs. Hairy. Combined, they were as large around as an orange.She squeezed and massaged the orange sack tenderly and felt thetwo large egg-sized lumps just beneath the surface.

She massaged his scrotum knowingly as if she had done it dozensand dozens of times before. He moaned. She moaned. The bed shook.Sweat flowed. Heat rose. "Oh, baby," he breathed hotly in herear, "You are one hot Momma! . . . And your Daddy's gonna fuckyou silly." She shuddered. Her mind was jumbled.

She was ready. Ready to be fucked silly. By a man twice her agewho reminded her of her father. He knew she was ready, too. Themoment for man and wife coupling had arrived. The foreplay wasover. Earl's fun part was here.

He parted her legs with his lower body and got between the twoalabaster-hued gams. He reached down with his left hand, took hispenis' large plum-like head and started rubbing it up and downfuriously on her moistened slit. She moaned and marveled at thestrangeness of it all. And at his size. As a drop of spittle fellfrom his chin and alit on her shoulder, he whispered, "Won't belong now, Shugga!"

He pushed his member into her to the depth of its head. She felther vagina spread out wide by the intrusion. He gave her more,slowly, teasingly, a small half an inch at a time. Then he was infour or five inches. Fear arose in her. Fear of what was to come.

Earl knew his new bride was a virgin. And he had only onephilosophy on that matter. As a young man, he had broken in manya fine filly and knew just how to go about it. None of this,"Sorry. Am I hurting you, Honey?" stuff for him. No sirree. Justplunge the old yoitza right in all the way, quick as a rabbit,break the maidenhead and get the stupid shit done and over with--so a man can get to the good stuff.

Thus without any warning to her, he plunged the entire eleven andseven-eighths length in. (For you sticklers of accuracy, and youpurists, it should be noted that the method used for themeasurement was taken from the prestigious, and very wellrespected, New Oxford college Penile Measurement Guide, volumesix, edition two.) His pubic hairs now bumped and shook handswith hers.

"Ohoooooooooooow! Oh! Owwww! Ohoow!" she shrieked, her eyes shuttightly and filled with tears. She felt split in two. Torn apart.Ripped asunder. As if someone had drove a pregnant baseball batdeep into her. One that curved acutely to her right. She felt thepressure of its enormity. The picture on wall watched her plight.

He took hold of her shoulders, from behind her, with both hands,held her fast and kept her in place. He pulled out some andplunged in to the hilt again. She screamed. She dimly felt theorange sack smack against her buttocks. He plunged again. Andagain. And again.

Earl's latest fine filly screamed throughout as he rode her. Tobreak her in properly, his way. But her screams of pains wereless loud each time as the pain was somewhat duller. Throughouther screams and groans, he plunged the bat with a vengeance.

In and out. Without mercy. He was a wild man now. A wild man whonow tried to fuck his new wife silly. Even sillier than silly.His ass pumped up and down like a piston. Her legs were splayedway out on both sides of him. They wiggled and flailed in theair. He tried to drive the bat deeper with each plunge. Theirbodies made slap-slap noises. Sweat flew in all direction.

The bed bounced and creaked. They sweated some more. They moanedand groaned. She screamed and yelled. He kept at it. In herjumbled mind, she wished he would spurt and stop the pain. And atthe same time, something in her wanted more. He, with a controlonly learned by practice, could fuck all night if asked politely.He regarded her moans and screams as polite enough.

Then she felt the release. Her release. It exploded within her.It sent shock waves throughout her body. It overwhelmed her. Itflooded her brain. Exploded within her brain. She saw starsthrough her closed eyelids. In full color. Then more explosions.Then even more. She rode the huge baseball bat straight to Heavenon a wave of explosions and starbursts. New waves of emotionflowed over her then lifted her higher. And higher.

Then higher still. And higher yet. Then something flowed backdown. And flowed out of her. She felt as if she had flowed outthrough her vagina, flowed out all over the bed, onto the floor.And then, miraculously, it all flowed back into her. Then outagain. She thought she would faint. She hoped so. Then she didn'twant it to end. She wanted it over with but never ending.

She showered his ears, his neck, and his face, with wet kisses.Sweat rolled off both of them. They kissed. Their wet, sloppytongues crashed. Spittle flew. More sweat flowed. Two peopleentwined in a rutting frenzy. No animals had ever matched theiractions. They were driven. Out of their minds. Insane.

He told her he loved her, too. Once. Then he fucked her very hardand violently for a minute or so more. Then yelled, at the top ofhis lungs, "Here I comes, Darlin!' Here comes your Earl! Holdstill, Baby, hold still . . . now! . . . ooooooooooooooooooh"With one final plunge of the entire bat, he spasmed. And floodedher.

She felt it. Every spasm. Every spurt, deep inside her, spurt after spurt. And it felt hot. As if, somehow, each spurt washotter than her own body temperature. She felt sure an elephanthad just unloaded in her vagina. But he only had the weight of anEarl.

As she felt him flood hot and very deep inside her, a thoughtbounced in. She said, "Oh, God, Earl, you really have poppycockedme silly!"

He chuckled in her ear. "Told ya I would," he said matter of-factly. "Told ya."

Then he asked as his full weight collapsed upon her, “What doespoppycock mean, Baby?”

"I'll tell you in the mornin' . . . Hon."

SHORT EXPLANATION: In the story, Colonel Grok, Commander of aGroinkian warship hovering above Earth, is homesick for his gona,which is Groinkian for female counterpart, almost a wife.

From the chapter: "I'm gonna miss my gona!"

OLONEL GROK looked down at the printout of Captain Grik's latestcontact with Earth. It had every word that was spoken between theCaptain and Lieutenant Gron. The higher ups had seen to that.They listened in on every form of communications. It wouldn'tsurprise the Colonel if they even had his ship bugged. Alwaysparanoid, those bastards, he thought. They see spies everywhere.So they put spies everywhere.

He now knew Gron had eliminated Grin. On Captain Grik's order.Technically. For he knew the real order had originated with HighCentral Command. Listening in, they would have told the Captain,through his ever-present earpiece, what had to be done, rightthen and there--and by whom. He also knew his Captain, if allowedto, would have found a more saner and sensible solution. That hewas sure of.

He had liked Lt. JG Grin. A good Groinkian soldier. Loyal andfaithful and dependable. What more could you want in a man? Someschmuck in the HCC should go to his books and look up what theterm "real waste" means. But even if he did, that wouldn't helpGrin now, would it? Nosirree.

He was glad it wasn't he that would have to make the house callto Grin's gona, Gridda. He had only met her a few times, but heliked her. And she and Grin had one of those loves that hesuspected would be gonotta renewed many, many times. He wouldhave trouble facing her with the bad news.

He thought about her cooking. Gridda's Slave- Surprise Stew wassomething to die for! He chuckled when he realized the pun he hadjust made. Some slave did have to die for that stew. Oh, well, hethought, one man's meat is another man's stew! He chuckled again,his heartlessness hidden from him by over a century of Groinkiantraining.

His large warship was now in the static-filled position. Theparadoxical situation this created wasn't lost on the Colonel.True, it made detection by Earthlings near impossible, but italso made communications between his ship, the infiltrators onthe planet, and the home base, near impossible, too.

Even though he had ordered the ship's power output tripled. EvenGroinkians, he thought, sometimes lose to the limitations ofphysics.

To push the output even higher would use up vast amounts ofenergy, which, should they suddenly have the need for, forwhatever reason, including an attack, they just might findthemselves caught short. Invincible Groinkian warships had theirlimits, too.

Now as he sat in his private stateroom, he wondered what events,those over with and those yet to come, were leading up to.Victory? The conquering of a planet? New slaves and foodstuffs?Or defeat--with all the trimmings? And one of those trimmings, heknew only too well, would give him his first taste of a Grun-gun's savage raw power.

He shuddered and his shoulders shook.

Oh, well, he thought, I've been trained to accept death. Bitch isthey don’t train you how to accept never seeing your Grindaagain. The thought of her made his eyes mist up. He tried topicture her face more clearly, but it had been too long. Twoyears now. Of course, he had her on tape on his portableteleviewer.

Did she, he wondered, ever miss him the way he now missed her.Probably not. At least not often. For he knew Grinda had dozensof slave gossixi to take her mind off things. And fill more thanjust her time. And quell her loneliness. Especially that oneslave-gossix, Gundle, who she once said had driven her to Heavenwith his three-headed penis. He had never met Gundle. Grinda hadacquired him only recently.

Of course, he thought, when the transmutations arrive I'll havemy fun, if I feel like it. They were sending along enough gammixito keep the entire ship happy for a long time.

He reached for his portable televiewer and pressed buttons. Helooked down at the square four-inch screen. Gundle appeared.Naked.

"Greetings Major Grok. I hope when you receive this you are well.I am Gundle, your gona's gossix. She has asked me to participatein this endeavor in the hope it gives you some form of pleasure."The image cut to Grinda's face. It was obvious she held thecamera. "Hello my love." She said. "I miss you terribly. And Ithought you would like some lurid entertainment. OK?" As if hehad a choice.

The camera then cut and panned Gundle's body. In a close-up shothe saw Gundle's large penis come to life as Grinda manipulated itwith her free hand. It was truly an amazing sight to behold. Itwas a normal penis that, at the four or five inch spot from thegroin, split into three separate shafts, each with its own fullyformed head. The three heads formed a perfect triangle, with aninch or so space between each pair. It looked awesome.

Then Grinda must have rested the camera on something stationary,for there she was, on her knees, sans camera, performing oral onGundle. She went from head to head as if she was playing sometype of musical instrument. The Colonel was surprised he couldn'thear a melody. She did this for a time and then the two of themkissed a few times before getting into the bed.

He had seen this before and wanted to get to where Grinda goes toHeaven. The Colonel punched in the fast forward number, frame323. Click. 323 had arrived. He watched his gona scream, writheand go crazy as Gundle worked his heavenly magic with his three-headed Hydra. When the action died down, he hit the off button.

What followed, he knew, were six more performances by Gundlealong the same lines.

Gundle sure had stamina. He was also very adept, but he lackedvariety and imagination. He hoped this made a difference toGrinda. How could it, he wondered.

The Colonel now remembered what he had said to Grinda in his onceevery six months home communications allowance. Knowing it wouldbe read by the spies, he worded it cryptically. Aside from the Ilove you and miss you part, he added: "Remember, my Grinda, threeheads are not always better than one--I hope! Hee hee!"

And to Gundle he wrote: "Thank you from my wellspring for keepingmy Grinda happy."

He forced his mind to shift this sentimental gear into neutral.He reached out and pressed the intercom button. When he heard hisCaptain-Soon- To-Be-Major say, "Yes, Colonel, Sir?" he felt oncemore like an important part of the invincible Groinkian invasionforces.